


It's Where My Demons Hide

by bristow



Series: In a Hopeless Place [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Background Character Death, Background Relationships, Backstory, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bristow/pseuds/bristow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wore a short little black dress, with matching shoes and earrings, her red hair curled slightly as it fell over her shoulders. But that wasn't what Clint was looking at. It was the gun that was pointed right at him that had his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Where My Demons Hide

She had bright red hair, more like blood than anything else. And how fitting if this really was her. She was wearing a dress like all the other women around her, tight fitting and a ridiculous shade of something completely unnatural. Her hair and makeup were slightly less fancy then all the others, not that she needed it anyway. She was the kind of woman who could wear a sack and look like a Top Model. Well, more of a girl really.

"This is her?" Clint asked, glancing up at Coulson who stood silently as ever by his side. He nodded briefly, still looking at the girl. Clint frowned as he looked through his binocs again. This was the infamous Black Widow, who had killed almost as many people as Clint had? This… girl?

"What is she, 18?"  
"19." Phil said simply, still unmoving. Clint had often wondered if he was stuck that way. Sam had said it must have been the way he came into this world. 

"19…" Clint repeated, shaking his head as he watched the girl, this so called master assassin, work her way through the crowd toward her target. "Impossible."

"What is?" Phil asked. Clint stood up as she disappeared into the crowd and out of his sight. 

"Her." Clint wrapped the straps around the binocs, "She can't be the Black Widow. I was expecting-"

"A woman in a cat suit?" Clint glanced up at Phil, shrugging slightly.

"Maybe. Too much?"

"Too Batman." Phil agreed nodding, but still not smiling. Clint smiled. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

"So you're gonna just let her kill him?" This time Phil shrugged.

"Saves us doing it."

"Seriously Coulson, she's my target? You're not pulling a fast one on me are you?"

"Not even a slow one."

"Right, what was I thinking? Why me?"

"Because you're the best we have."

"Well, yeah," Clint said stuffing his binocs into his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder, "There's that. Really?"

"No, not really," Phil said, walking along side Clint, "We picked your name out of a hat."

"It wasn't an Irish hat was it?"

"I've been sworn to secrecy." Phil answered, putting on his shades, his face still stoic as ever. Clint shook his head as they reached his ride, his sweet Harley motorbike, the only thing he owned that didn't involve an arrow.

"And you want me to kill her?"

"She's a liability."

"Aren't we all?"

"I'll remember that." Phil said, walking away to his car. Clint watched as Coulson walked away, glancing back to where he'd last seen her. He'd never questioned a kill before, but he'd never killed a kid before either.

….

Two weeks passed by, before Clint even thought about this Black Widow. And surprisingly (or not) it was Sam who brought her up.

"Apparently she's in London." Sam said casually, as he poured himself what must have been his third cup of coffee in a row. Clint had never known a man who could stomach that much coffee in one go. And hold it in that long…

"How can you drink so much of that stuff?" Clint asked, pointing his water bottle in Sam's direction.

"It keeps me going." Sam replied, shrugging as he swashed the contents of his mug around and emptied it all in one go, before depositing the mug on the table in front of him, "And don't change the subject Barton."

"Subject?" Clint asked, leaning back in his chair, "What subject? We were talking about coffee."

"No we weren't. We were talking about the Black Widow."

"No, we weren't," Clint replied, getting out of his chair to refill his water bottle before his upcoming training session, "You were."

"Good one, I'll give you that. But you can't avoid it forever, Clint. You have a call to make." Clint glanced over his shoulder, before turning back to the sink.

"Have you seen her?"

"Who, her her as in the Widow her?"

"Yeah, her Sam, who else would I mean?"

"Yeah I've seen her. Whose hat do you think the names went it?" Clint shook his head and turned around to face Sam.

"She's just a kid, Sam. How can I kill a kid?"

"She's around Maria's age."

"You suggesting I try my new techniques out on Hill first?"

"All I'm saying is don't let her age fool you, Clint. Age doesn't count for anything anymore, not in our line of work. Doesn't matter if she's 19 or 190, she's a killer working for the wrong guys, and that's that. I'm sure she'd rather kill you in cold blood then look twice at you. Me on the other hand…"

"Oh, she wouldn't even look once at you, trust me." Sam chuckled as he stood up, grabbing his towel from the back of his chair.

"You've gotta face it, Barton. Can't keep running away from it, not if you want to make it around here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a Hill to climb." Clint smiled softly as he watched Sam go. What he'd give for a partner like Sam's. Young for sure, but man could she handle herself. Clint had had a partner like that once. But that was a long time ago and past was past. And as much as he hated the thought, his future couldn't wait any longer.

….

She wore a short little black dress, with matching shoes and earrings, her red hair curled slightly as it fell over her shoulders. But that wasn't what Clint was looking at. It was the gun that was pointed right at him that had his attention. It looked two times too big for her and her little hands shook, just slightly, as she aimed at his chest, her mouth set in a grim line, and her eyes looking almost like empty pools as they stared right into his.

"Hadn't you better think about this kid?" She flinched slightly, whether from annoyance at being interrupted during a kill (which she obviously wasn't used to) or from Clint calling her kid he wasn't sure.

"My name's Natasha," she said through gritted teeth, "And I'm not a kid." She tilted her head slightly to the side as several pieces of blood red hair fell over her shoulders.

"I guess you're not." Did that just come out as squeaky as it sounded? Clint gulped slightly as he glanced at the gun again. Let's hope she didn't have a twitchy trigger finger.

"What do you want from me?" Clint looked back from the shaking gun into her eyes that stared with suspicion at him.

"What do you think I want, Natasha?" She hesitated slightly as she looked him up down.

"You're not a cop." She stated, "An assassin then. You were sent to kill me, weren't you?"

"Maybe."

"It can't be maybe, mister." Natasha replied, shaking her head vigorously, "It's either yes or no."

"Ok," Clint said slowing lowering his hands from the surrender position, "It's yes then. So why don't we just put that down."

"And why would I do that?" She asked, her voice changing slightly.

"I really don't like having guns pointed at me."

"You're about to kill me and you want me to lower my gun because it offends you? What are you on, mister?" Clint smiled slightly. She had guts. Maybe she wasn't a kid after all.

"The name's Clint, not 'mister' and I was sent to kill you."

"Yeah, I got that. With what exactly, may I ask, mister?" This time Clint did smile. Maybe Sam was right, he really did have a call to make. Maybe just not the one everybody thought.

….

Clint soon found out that Natasha didn't take to sitting still well. Heck, if she beat up another guard for something to do, he really would kill her this time. But it was all worth it, just to see the look on her face when he showed Natasha her new hobby.

"Chess." She said, staring at the board that Clint had laid down in front of her like it was about to rear its head up and bite her, "You want me to learn chess?" She looked up at him with a look that was borderline hate. And all over a game of chess.

"It's a great patience builder, kid." He said, setting up the pieces and enjoying the narrowing of the eyes, and the glare that came with it, that 'kid' always provoked. "And you could sure use some of that." She rolled her eyes and put her head into her hands, staring at Clint like he'd gone mad. 

"Fine." Clint shrugged. He was used to it. Phil had looked at him like he was crazy (the most emotion Clint had ever seen on Coulson's face at one time) but hadn't said a word. Sam had looked at him like he was insane. Sam had also called him an idiot. He'd always had trouble holding in what he really thought.

"Fine. Have you looked around yet?"

"Nobody's shown me."

"I offered."

"Yeah, and those guys that you sent to 'show me around'," Natasha said, raising her fingers like quotation marks in the air, "Well, their version involved handcuffs."  
"That's only because you'd punch them in the face otherwise." This time Natasha shrugged, but she didn't argue.

"Have you met Maria?"

"You mean the one that your friend keeps staring at?"

"O'Hara's partner, yes."

"Partner…" Natasha repeated nodding slowly, "Right…" At least she was observant, he'd give her that. "Why?"

"I just thought, you know, she's your age and all."

"That we'd be girly-friends?" 

"No. I just thought you might like to have someone your age and gender around instead of a-"

"Old man?" Natasha finished, finally looking like she was having fun. Clint sighed. Why couldn't she look like that about chess?

"Whatever you say, kiddo." She narrowed her eyes again and Clint smiled, "Your move."

….

"She settling in ok?" Clint glanced at Phil with raised eyebrows. Sam chuckled silently in the corner.

"What do you think?" He answered. Clint glared at Sam who just smiled that irritatingly smug smile at him, like he owned the world.

"She's… coping." Phil nodded slowly, looking anything but convinced at Clint's answer.

"Right coping. Do you think she's ready?"

"Ready, ready for what?"

"The mad house?" Sam asked.

"Not helping, Sam."

"Oh, I know. Trust me." Clint rolled his eyes. He'll kill that man one day.

"Ready for what?"

"A mission." Phil answered simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world to say.

"A mission?" Clint repeated, staring at Phil like he was the one that had lost his mind. This time, he really had.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"A mission." Phil repeated calmly, "Do you think Romanoff's ready for a mission? Basic one, of course."

"Oh, of course." Clint answered with just a hint of sarcasm laced in his voice. Phil straightened up slowly, cocking his head slightly to the side.

"If you don't think she's ready, Barton, why is she here?" Clint paused, feeling both Coulson and Sam's eyes trained on him, not a comfortable feeling. Why was Romanoff here, really? Was it because one day Clint could see her changing? Or was it just his twisted way of redeeming himself, or at least attempting to?

"Because I can see her, not now but in the future, being…" Clint struggled to find the right words to finish his thoughts, "Better."

"Better?" Phil repeated.

"Better. A better person, a good person."

"Romanoff?" Sam asked, and Clint marveled at how long the opinionated Irishman had kept silent for. Had to be a record.

"Yeah, Romanoff. I don't know, maybe it's just me. But I can honestly see her becoming at better person. She's still young and I think deep down, she wants to change, wants to be a better person. You should see the way she looks at Maria, tries to copy her. I think she's changing already."

"For all our sakes, Barton," Phil said, "You'd better be right."

….

As it turned out, Clint had been right. Mostly anyway. After the first mission, in which Clint had to pry Natasha's hand from around the neck of some jerk who'd obviously had the nerve to call her hot, Natasha had started to show signs of improvement. She began to follow Clint's instruction, even going so far as to ask for it (though that only happened the once while they were being shot at). And to Clint's surprise, she was starting to become more and more like Hill, and even more to his surprise, Clint started calling her kid less and Nat more. Almost like… a partner. And trust Sam to surprise him even more.

"I think she likes you." It was then that Clint choked on water for the first time. "See," Sam said pointing at Clint as he choked, "You like her too. Maria was right."

"Trust you not to have an original thought, O'Hara." Sam smiled that smug smile at Clint again, as he leaned back in his chair, a triumphant look on his face.

"I don't hear you denying it, Barton."

"Of course I like her," Clint reluctantly replied, vainly attempting to dry his shirt with a cloth, "She's my partner. Just like you like Hill. Ok," Clint said, glancing up at Sam, "No, no, not like you like Hill."

"You said it, buddy."

"No, not-" Clint sighed. What was the point of trying to argue with Sam? He'd just back Clint into a corner, twisting every word out of Clint's mouth into whatever Sam wanted to hear. "Never mind." He shook his head, "Someday that mouth of yours is gonna get you killed."

….

That was the last thing Clint ever said to Sam. Riding home when Phil had called, making Clint nearly crash when he heard what the usually stoic Coulson had said. Part of him hoped that Phil had had one to many and was pulling one on him. But that flew out of his head when he saw Phil's face as he stood outside of Maria's home. Just as well, he would have punched Phil square in the face anyway. And then Sam for scaring him half to death. But that didn't matter anyway, because Phil didn't. Clint practically stumbled into Maria's lounge room. She sat on the couch, staring at the wall, her face completely still. Nothing moving, not even a tear. Clint came and stood next to her and after what seemed like hours later, she finally turned her face towards him. Her mouth opened slowly but nothing came out and all Clint could do was sit down next to her and pat her awkwardly on the back when she threw her arms around his neck and cried like he'd never heard a person cry before. They rocked slowly back and forth, Clint still patting her on the back, rocking the only thing that stopped him from crying to. How long had they rocked there? He had no idea. Phil stayed the whole time, sitting in the matching lounge chair, just watching, not moving, and not speaking. Just being there. Natasha came… Clint didn't know when, but she came, sat down next to Clint and hugged him from behind, rocking in rhythm, never saying a word. It was then Clint found out something. He'd found a partner again. A real partner, one he'd never call kid again.

….

"It's today you know."

"I know, Clint."

"Sam never did like this stuff, did he?" Clint held up a glass of brown liquid, squinting as much as a drunk man could squint, as the overhead lamp illuminated the glass.

"No, neither did you." Clint glanced at Natasha, who sat quietly next to him, a glass of ginger ale in front of her. She looked at him, right at him, not with pity. Not even with compassion. Just understanding and friendship.

"Neither did I." Clint finally said, turning back to studying the glass. "After all that's happened. Sam and…" Clint paused, knowing that he didn't need to voice what he was thinking. Natasha would understand, "It just kind of made sense. I don't know, I guess it's all in my mind."

"Everyone has their own way of coping, Clint."

"You?" Clint asked, looking at Natasha again. She nodded slightly.

"You know I do."

"You hate this stuff too, don't you?"

"Just what it does to you Clint." Clint looked back at the glass in his hand, twirling it slowly, watching as the liquid made slow circles in the glass. Always changing, always the same. Never-ending. Like his life, only he could end the never-ending circle in his hand a lot quicker than his life. He emptied his glass in one swallow, placing the now finished circle back on the bar in front of him.

"What it does to me. I suppose you have a better way?"

"You could always talk."

"Talk?" Clint asked, glancing with a slight squint at Natasha as the full effects of the never-ending circle starting hitting him, "To you I suppose?"

"That's what partners are for Clint."

"Is that what they're for? To talk to? And what the Hell will talking do? Bring Sam back? Phil? All those people?" Clint paused as Natasha flinched slightly. He knew he shouldn't take it out on her. Not after what they'd been through. What she'd done for him. With him. But he couldn't help it, and it scared it, just slightly, at how good it felt. "All the blood, Natasha. Can't you see it?" He stared right into her eyes, barely noticing as she shook slightly. The Black Widow, shaking. Because if anyone knew about all the blood, she did. And he knew it. "Can't you?" She flinched openly as he raised his voice slightly, several patrons looking their way. But Clint didn't care. He didn't seem to care about much anymore. He shook his head and stood abruptly off, pausing slightly as Natasha grabbed his arm.

"Clint, don't go alone. I'll walk with you."

"Why?"

"I just want to help you, Clint."

"I don't need your help." He said, turning around and walking away, not looking at Maria and Steve even though he felt Maria's eyes on him. He just kept on walking, out the door and into the cold and merciless night outside. Kind of like his life. Cold. Empty. Dark. He paused at the end of the walkway, looking ahead into the black, looking to the left at his bike that sat waiting. He could feel the cold already seeping in. Only his arm felt warm, where Nat's hand had held it. Where Nat's hand sat now. He glanced down at Natasha, who just stood next to him, holding onto his arm with both hands, like she was holding onto him like a lifeline. Why not? She was his. She looked up at him, smiling softly, gripping a bit tighter just in case he got away. Clint didn't say anything, he didn't even smile. He just put his hands into his pockets and let Nat lead him away, where ever she wanted to. Because his life wasn't really empty. And we wasn't really alone. He had her, no matter what he said or how much he drank. She would always be his lifeline.


End file.
